Ein Sof
by joudama
Summary: They are the vessels, made only to hold the Word.
1. Malkhut

**Title:** Malkhut

**Summary:** He is a vessel, a shell made only to hold the Word.

**Fandom:** FF7, Sephiroth/Kadaj

**A/N:** This is a bit brainbendy, so I hope it makes sense. Besides, anything based off Kabalistic imagery shouldn't completely make sense at first _anyway_. If it does, you're _doing it wrong_.

puts on Joudama Explains It All hat The title of this fic comes from the sephira Malkhut, which is the lowest point on the Tree of Life, and is according to some Kabalistic thinking, the point above the Qliphoth (The Tree of Death, or the "shadow" of the Tree of Life, formed when the first imperfect vessels shattered because they couldn't contain the Word of God.) Since Highest above Malkhut in the Tree of Life is the highest of all the sephirot, Keter, which has been called the most hidden of all hidden things, and is only below the source of the sephirot, Ein Sof. Keter is pure consciousness, and is the point that crystallizes out of the Ein Sof, and commences the process of emanation of the Word. 

But the funny thing of it is, Keter may be the highest sephira of its world, but everything from the world below--namely, our reality--has to be filtered up through Malkhut to reach Keter, and anything coming from Keter can only be felt by those on the planes below when filtered and interpreted through Malkhut (which is why Malkhut is associated with the mouth and the power of speech.) takes off Joudama Explains It All hat and sets it on fire

--

The vessel remembers. He remembers a feeling of wholeness, of wholeness inside a state of nothingness, of a state before he was _he_. He knows there was a time when he did not exist as whatever and whoever he was; when _he_ was not _he_ but was a part of _Him_. And he feels that he is separate, cut off from the wholeness, and that he is incomplete. 

He has no memory, he realizes, before the moment when something, somewhere, went wrong. When He tried to create a space and it shattered, when the original, imperfect vessel that was supposed to become _Him_ shattered because it was unable to hold. And so instead, he knew, on some deep level he couldn't quite put into words but knew simply _was, _He had split aspects off, instead of replicating had _split_ and that was why he was incomplete. He was only part; only an aspect, and he knew, from the first moment of consciousness, that he was the vessel, one to replace that which had broken.

But he was incomplete.

He wakes, after that first shattering, knowing something catastrophic has happened, but it is not a full awakening. He simply exists, waiting, an empty vessel should the need arise for Him and for something else, something that whispers at him through Him, something He calls Mother and so it is his Mother as well. He is empty and he _waits_.

He was used to waiting, to existing silent and floating in this incomplete and unfinished state, a state seeming inifinitely long and like it was always so, even though he knows that it was not, and that seems, in a way that terrifies the spark of him, will always be so, when suddenly, there is a moment of something catastrophic again, this time of the unthinkable; He has lost and now...and now...

"And now I have use for you," a low voice says, as everything goes into a space of pure white, and the vessel is suddenly _aware_. He doesn't know where he is or even _who_ he is, he has nothing at that point that is a name, that is anything other than an empty shell with nothing of its own.

"Yes," He said, lips curving in a slow, deliberate smirk, chin tilting up in a jerk as silver lashes, so long as to seem unreal to the vessel, close over green eyes in a way that makes the vessel's throat dry, and all he can think is that He is incomparable, unparalleled, and the vessel himself is only a poor, broken imitation of his, and he wonders what the first vessel must have been like; the one who shattered. He feels his body--or rather, his self, since he knows on some level that this place is not real--is small and unfinished, and that He is beautiful, far closer to perfect than the vessel, far closer to _Mother_, and in His presence, he can feel the difference between them like a yawning ache.

And He comes forward until He is standing right before the vessel, and before he can speak, He reaches out a hand and touches the vessel's cheek, and now he can almost hear Mother, can hear the faintest whisper of her rage.

"You are only a poor shadow of me, a fragment. You are barely more than nothing, but you can be used," He said, his voice low and cold and calculating, and yet somehow something twisted in him with a kind of heat at it, and he turns his face to that hand, trying to get closer to it, to get closer to Mother, his lips pressing against His palm in a kind of supplication.

And He smiles at that, something dangerous and cold, and He brushes His fingers against the vessel's lips. And the vessel opens his mouth against the fingers, strains in some way to be closer, to have Him as close as he can have Him, to bring him back into wholeness. He feels his incompleteness more now, feels it now that he is close to what he was formed _from_, and he wants that completeness, wants to return to it, and that he can not is unendurable. He wants to reach for Him, to grasp Him in his weak hands and pull himself _into_ Him and Him into himself, until there is no more separate and he is finally _whole_, finally a part once again of what he had been before being forced away and separate as he was formed.

He feels His fingers press into his mouth, and he lets out a faint, whimpering noise at it, at both the feeling of those fingers and the feeling of _presence_, both of Him and of Her. He feels both of them now, a little, Her presence filtered through His, Her chosen son. And he leans closer, as if if he is physically closer to Him then he will be closer to Her, able to hear Her voice as more than a faint buzzing in his ears. She is calling, he thinks, but he can't _hear_, he must be closer to Him to be closer to Her, and fingers are not enough.

And then, in a moment of cruelty, He pulls away, withdrawing His fingers and severing their connection, and he whimpers, draws in at the sudden lack of both His and of Her presence and of the crushing realization of being only a poor and incomplete fragment of the whole.

He strains his body without realizing towards Him, seeking to touch, to have that connection again, and sudden He is there, moving forward, and His mouth is hot against his, and the connection is there, is louder, and Her voice is almost words, almost something he can _hear_.

Suddenly he is pushed away, pushed away when he dares to try and put himself _into_ Him, to move his tongue into His mouth to be somehow inside of it, of Him, of _Them_.

"So that's it, then," He says, something burning in His vibrant green eyes, as if He as suddenly seen what before was hidden, and the vessel despaired at being pushed away again, when a reunion was so close. "You seek completion, then. You think if you are close enough, you won't be what you are," He said, his voice mocking. "A pale copy of me, unable even to wake." The next sound He makes is one of disgust. "That I have come to this, then. But no matter. Because I will succeed," He says, and leans in again, grasping his arm and pulling him close to Him in a fast, hard motion so fast he jarred, jerked all but off his feet and forced to lean into Him for support.

"But that's how it is," He whispers, His mouth against his ear, His breath hot and causing him to shiver and his eyes to slide shut. "You are nothing without me. You are nothing save a body for me to one day use; a mind that will offer no resistance and would be unable to even if it tried."

His hands touched him, one smooth and hot against his neck, pulling him in such a way that his face was close to His in a way that made him aware of His perfection and beauty, and his eyes slid shut when He kissed him, harsh and possessive and dismissive, and he welcomed the feel of His tongue in his mouth, entering him. He had no right to push into Him, he was incomplete and could only be filled; there wasn't enough of him and he knew that, so close to what was complete, with His voice ringing in his head showing beyond all doubt what he is in this, and Her voice roaring on the outskirts. The vessel does not resist when He begins pulling away all the layers between them, only feels as they become closer, as She becomes easier to hear, and he moans in the ecstasy of it.

"You are only a vessel, imperfect and incomplete. You will be my vessel, to bring me back so I can fulfill Mother's plans," He says. "You are unable to hold Mother and unable to contain me. And when I will it, when you have done all that Mother commands, I _will_ supplant all that _you_ are." And with that, he arches sharply, feeling Him now inside him, pushing His way into him, into his body and mind both.

He can see, now how the first would have shattered, at that first moment of connection; at the moment when he was opened and _opened_ and Mother could flood into him, now that he was so close to Him. The first must have had what the vessel did not; an urge to fight, to stay separate, to assert himself over Him and thus Mother.

But that would not do; if one fought, He would destroy it, burning too bright and expansive to be contained. So he would not contain Him. He would instead reflect Him, would allow Him to pour through and not _overwhelm_ the vessel but _sublimate _him. And by sublimating himself, _exalt_ himself by becoming Him, becoming whole, becoming all that he lacked. Becoming more than a vessel. He would take his as his holy duty, be the vessel for both Him and Mother; do Mother's will as He bade him to do, and would be exalted, would be _whole_ for it, because it was through him, _Kadaj_, he thought, suddenly _knowing_ who he was and that he was separate and would thus be _named_, because he realized it was only through him that He--Sephiroth, a voice whispered inside him, the same voice that had given Kadaj his name--could touch the world so Mother's bidding could be done. Kadaj couldn't do what Mother wanted; couldn't be what She needed, but he was the vessel that would allow Sephiroth to serve Her once more. Sephiroth was outside of physically, outside of what Kadaj was, and thus, without Kadaj, the only one of the three vessels who remained--and Kadaj knew suddenly then that there were others, they were part as well, and he would find them--and the only one able to commune directly; that without him Sephiroth was thwarted, was _helpless_.

And Kadaj smiled, knowing at he was weak, knowing he was infinitely weaker than Sephiroth...but Sephiroth was also infinitely weaker than Kadaj himself because he was now only mind, only spirit, and this could do nothing without Kadaj allowing it, that force would shatter him as it had the first vessel and then Sephiroth would have no way to reach the world again...and both of them were aware of it. Kadaj could taste Sephiroth's rage at it and he _savored_ it, let Sephiroth hate that he was so dependent on one so weak, and he accepted this as it elevated him. His weakness was his strength and it alone would keep him whole; Kadaj would control the moment when he released himself and his body to Sephiroth in the physical realm even as Sephiroth so ruthlessly controlled him here. Here was Sephiroth's space, but out _there_, out there would be _Kadaj's_, and even Sephiroth would be unable to make Kadaj unwillingly submit out there. Kadaj would chose the moment, the moment when he was sublimated, and he could taste Sephiroth's rage as he arched into Sephiroth's hands. In here, Sephiroth could force him to his will, but out there, the moment when Kadaj submitted all, that would be _his_ decision, that he would be the one to spark Reunion. 

And he knew that when he found the other vessels, the other two, split and on different branches; not direct in the same way as Kadaj and so they couldn't feel Sephiroth like Kadaj did, but Kadaj could feel both of them; a thin connection between him and them that surely they must be aware of too, now, because he could feel them stirring _awake_, they would know this as well--they would defend him, Kadaj, and in the end, they would be the ones to do what even He could not, and Kadaj suddenly in his mind dismissed Sephiroth as anything more than another vessel, another channel to Mother. Kadaj was too weak and too far from Her to feel Her directly, but he felt Her through Sephiroth, and knew She used Sephiroth as Sephiroth would use him, and thus it was all right, it was _proper_, because Sephiroth was his connection to Mother.

And with a gasp, his body shuddering hard from the force of release from all that Sephiroth was doing and had done, the white world of nothing exploded into something else, into _reality_, into the _world_, and Kadaj knew what he had to do.

For Mother. And for himself.


	2. Shevirat ha kelim

**Title:** Shevirat ha-kelim

**Rating: **R

**Word count: **1,713 (not including A/N)

**A/N:** -puts on new Joudama Explains It All hat- Now we have to look at Lurianic Kabbalah and things start getting all "…bwuh?" Under Lurianic Kabbalah, God filled all, leaving no room for creation. In order to create the universe, God had to pull back and create a space where He wasn't there. This pulling-away is known as _tzimtzum_. God pulled back in stages, and those "stages" became the sephirot, which were to be vessels to emanate the divine back into the space he had pulled away from. Only, there was a wee little problem. God had these vessels all lined up in a nice, tidy little row, and he let his light shine...but the sephirot were kind of not unified as set aspects yet and thus were unstable, so when the energy of god went through them, the first three sephirot were displaced so they were no longer in a line, and the other seven? -points to fic title-

"Shevirat ha-kelim" means "the breaking of the vessels" and refers to the moment when the lower seven of the first set of vessels, the kelim, that were to house the sephirot shattered into 288 "sparks," which scattered and fell from their position (but! The sephirot that was supposed become Malkhut didn't shatter...it just kinda broke. This is a very important thing, because had it shattered into fragments instead of just breaking, all of creation would have been thrown into chaos...please don't ask me how; I think it relates to the tie between Malkhut and Keter). The shattered vessels were replaced, but the shattered fragments, animated by a residue of god's creative power, remained and conflicted with the aspects of the sephirot they replaced. -takes off Joudama Explains It All hat and wanders off in search of aspirin-

Shevirat ha-kelim

And there were voices.

There were voices, thousands upon millions of them, all pressed in against him, pulling to him let go and join with them. And it was hard, so hard, not to, not to give up his sense of self, of who he was, what he was.

He had to remind himself, tell himself. I'm Cloud Strife. I'm a trooper in ShinRa's army. I'm from Nibelheim. Cloud. My name is Cloud.

But the voices, there were always so many, the voices of all creation, of all that had ever lived, voices of all things souled, and they called to him, called so much, pressed in, expansive and expanding, filling all.

There were the voices, the voices of all, and a few he could pick out--a nudge of something, someone, connected like he was, and he knew that it was Zack. It was different from the others, whole and distinct and assuredly so--it would not fade into the chorus, and because of that, because he could _sense_ that, somehow, Cloud knew it was alright to keep himself, _better _to keep himself, and he tried. He fought and he told himself, over and over, that he was Cloud. Zack was whole and that was OK, so he would stay whole and that would be OK. If he kept sight-earshot-_sense _of Zack, he had an anchor and things were...well, not easy, but doable.

In the abyss, there was Zack...and there was _another_. Another who was separate and whole and different, and Cloud felt that other reach for him and he reached for it as well, seeking another anchor, and suddenly he felt _him_, the General, _Sephiroth_, and felt him watch Cloud's struggle to remain himself, and _laugh_.

And then, suddenly, there was void.

The void, a white space devoid of all, devoid of everything, cleared of the voices, cleared of all, shocking in both contrast and the suddenness of its creation. All of the voices were gone, all of them, even Zack's and Zack's _completeness_. In the void, there was nothing.

Nothing save himself. And the General.

Sephiroth's materia-green eyes, glowing and burning, raked over him, and the man himself had an arrogant, dismissive smirk on his face.

"You know that you have Mother's cells within you now," Sephiroth said, voice low and smooth, and Cloud shivered at that voice, not knowing why he did.

"Wait...but...you're _dead_!" Cloud said, hands moving before thought for a weapon. He could remember, now, all of it almost horrifyingly clear. Sephiroth locking himself away. The flames of Nibelheim. And the pain of Sephiroth's sword stabbing through his abdomen, and the pain of forcing himself, inch by inch, until he was close enough. "This isn't pos...none of this! None of this...what's going on," Cloud said, the words tangling in his mouth as his eyes narrowed sharply. He didn't understand what was going on, didn't know who "mother" was, didn't have the first clue why he was all but naked in this blindingly white void with a man who by all rights he had helped _kill_.

"Would you like me to congratulate you, then?" Sephiroth said, and there was something about the way he said that that made Cloud's blood run cold, made him aware of how dangerous Sephiroth was, and he shivered, and was aware of the thin medical gown clothing him. He wished more than anything, anything, for a uniform--at least then, he could have faced Sephiroth with the strength of that, of who and what he was behind him, backing him up--but now, like this, he felt weak and exposed, and from the dark smile twisting Sephiroth's lips, he knew the other man saw him the same.

There was a time, he remembered, when he had dreamed of being like Sephiroth. But this...this man, this _thing_ in front of him now was twisted, insane, and altogether too powerful for Cloud to stand against. But, he thought, eyes narrowing, he had stood against Sephiroth once before and won. The cost had been his very freedom and perhaps his very sanity, but he had won, and whatever the cost would be this time, he would pay it as well.

And then Sephiroth had him, before Cloud could registered that the man had moved, Cloud's wrists trapped in a grip of one hand that would snap his wrists at the barest extra pressure, the other gripping his chin, bruising, pulling Cloud's face so close to Sephiroth's that all he could see were the dark, slit-pupil's in the man's green eyes.

"You did manage to kill me, in a manner of speaking," Sephiroth said, and the voice was frightening in its sanity. "What you took from me, I intend to take back. Of all of his feeble attempts, you are my best bet. Because you are weak," Sephiroth said, and Cloud could see the horrible intelligence burning behind the insanity, and there was a buzzing in his ears, a voice that almost seemed like a woman's.

"You will take me in," Sephiroth said, his voice low and toying, lips against Cloud's ear, "And I will take you over. You will give me back what you took from me. And then, I will take over this world. Rejoice," he said, voice low and full of something dark and twisted and promising, "for in some way, you will be the ruler of this world."

And once again, Sephiroth's eyes were boring into his, coming closer, and before Cloud could register more than the dissociated realization that he was probably going to die here in this null space, Sephiroth's lips were on his.

And he could hear _her _now, he realized, before he could react to Sephiroth's mouth on his, forcing his mouth to _open._ He could hear the woman, her voice louder and more strident, through the connection of he and Sephiroth. Sephiroth was cold and she was fire; she was rage, she was hate, she was destruction, and she was screaming in his head. And as she screamed in his head, he could feel Sephiroth, attacking his sense of self, forcing his own mind into Cloud's, the two of them pushing in and then the voices, the thousands of millions of voices, all directed at his mind and being forced in at once, and Sephiroth and the woman destructive in at all, trying to turn him, twist him, to unstop his mouth and let remake him, reform him, he would be a vessel, their vessel, they would come in through him, their word through him, _them _through him, Sephiroth was, taking over and pushing into his body and in this space his mind in a two fold attack, fitting into a space both physical and mental, forcing Cloud to reshape, to take, to change into the vessel, forcing pressure reshaping erasing obliterating changing screaming she was _laughing_ he could hear her feel her feel her feel them and he fought, struggled to hold on to himself, to push her out and Sephiroth and he couldn't lose, couldn't let go had to stay himself, he was Cloud, he was not the vessel, would not he was NOT Sephiroth he was Cloud Cloud he was Cloud and Sephiroth snarled and forced again and suddenly the connection was twofold, more than simply his mouth forced open and he was _opened_, and it wasn't just Sephiroth Mother it was all of them, all the voices in the Lifestream, all of them pushing into him, rushing into him when he was opened, forcing him to expand, apart, to accept, to lose self to disintegrate and join and merge be obliterated, wiping away all that he was to leave an empty space a vessel to hold and laughing she was laughing they were he was split displaced breaking he was Sephi--no no NO he--!

_And that moment he shattered, the white world of nothing exploding into reality._

_And shattered and floated and was not he because there were many, there were fragments, pieces missing, all over, scattered, falling, gone, gone, lost, fading lost lost nothing self where was self was no self nothing fading voices voices voices voi-_

_The price of freedom sure is high_

And then again, the void.

_And some part, some fragment with a bare hint of vague memory of shattering, twitched away, terrified, naked and exposed and raw and_

_Oh, kid_

_voice a voice a voice something knew that voice somehow familiar something something somewhere_

_I knew things were kinda...but _this_...what did they do to you?_

_bitter there not here but here there was pained joking joking always joking kind something someone some no no no too much too much stay away no no no_

_C'mon, now, let me help you_

_help help scattered shattered shattered shattered scattered empty vessel too many too many too much too few too few too too gone lost faded shattered_

_Because I'm not going to abandon you_

_too quiet too alone only one voice and shattered shattered missing fractured fractured fractured empty empty empty_

_I can't just leave you like this_

_touch touch no touch bad but but soft trust this was trust was light was Zack, Zack no anchor Zack don't Zack leaving no_

_Us country boys have to stick together, y'know, and this is all I can do for you now, So c'mere_

Lips, soft against his and

_First first soldier SOLIDER SOLDIER Class 1st yes filling knowing remembering remember remember you you you I I I who I who I who I what I you're no no no where am I who am what am what am who am yes that's that's who I am I'm I'm yes that's know know know filling reforming forming forming filling the vessel I am the vessel no no I'm who I am who I am who am I who am I I'm_

_You've got my sword now and no _way_ we can lose. Show 'em what a SOLDIER Class 1st is made of, Clo_

Cloud_. I'm Cloud...Cloud Strife, SOLDIER, Class 1st._

The voices were silent, at last silent, the broken vessel filled with no memory of breaking or being reformed by who or by what, all of it falling away until there was only memory of _light_ until he knew who he was and who he had been. And what he had to do.


	3. Daat

**Title:** Da'at

**Rating:** R for vague smuttiness

**Word count: **1,118 (excluding A/N)

**Summary: **Reunion will make you whole

**A/N:** dusts off "Joudama Explains It All" hat again In one Kabbalistic school of thought, the location (the mystical state) of Da'at (Knowledge) is where the sephirot are united as one--all sephirot exist in their perfected state of infinite sharing, and it's impossible to distinguish one sephira from another, which works to mean that they are, for all intents and purposes, united as one.

Da'at and Keter (the "crown"--the uppermost sephira) are the same sephira from two different aspects; therefore where there is one, the other is not. (But there are some who equate Da'at with Malkhut. Which makes sense, oddly enough--because Malkhut is also known as Atarah - "Diadem".) In Lurianic Kabbalah, Keter is eliminated and Da'at is placed between Chokhmah and Binah. And there is a school that states that Keter is not part of the Tree but is instead the lowest part of the Ein Sof (the essence of God) and the _root_ of the Tree of Life (also part of why there is a big connection between Malkhut and Keter). Basically, one way to wrap your head around it is this: prior to the Breaking of the Vessels, Keter was part of the Tree, but afterwards Da'at. According to some schools. Not all. Some, namely in the Hermetic Qabalah, see Da'at as not a sephira but as an absence of a sephira, as upon an abyss, as a hidden or false sephira, and...yeah. The big thing I'm driving at is this: Da'at is the return to the state of unity, and Da'at and Keter do not exist together on the Tree, but both exist. Or one exists by not existing. Or that Da'at is simply the reflection of the inner dimension of Keter. Or something.

When the sephirot are mapped onto the body, Keter is at the top of the head, with Chochmah, Binah, and Malkhut forming the rest (Malkhut is the mouth), in a triangle, and Da'at rests in between, as the unified state of mind.

Da'at is also said to hold the key to unlocking the six chambers of the heart, filling them with the lifeforce. takes off Joudama Explains It All Hat, stuffs it under something, and goes off in search of liquor

...and yes, I spent far more time researching all this than actually writing the fic. And since I'm something of a masochist AND I don't want all the research I've done so far to go to waste, I'm planning to continue this series on my writing journal. If any of you want to continue watching me beat my head against Jewish mysticism for the sake of short little ficlets, I'm calling it Ein Sof.

Da'at

He dreamed.

And in the dream, he floated in the Lifestream, apart and separate and whole, seeking until he found, one with Mother's cells, one that would allow him to return, and Kadaj smiled, a smile that was not his, and he felt Mother's satisfaction, felt Mother's presence, and, most of all, felt _whole_. Kadaj was full, complete, his soul his own. But when he looked down, the body...he realized, suddenly, that he was not he but _him_, Sephiroth, and this was some fragment of Sephiroth's will, of his memory, that Kadaj carried within him, accessible only now, only in the unconscious and dreaming. And Kadaj hated, hated the way his Mother's voice filled Sephiroth in a way she didn't fill him, hated how Sephiroth was complete when he was incomplete, a shell seeking its missing parts.

But that was not for now, and Sephiroth-Kadaj formed a space, a void in the Lifestream, where there was nothing, an empty space for creation or destruction, around one who was _different_, was--

_Your brother_, Mother whispered, not to Sephiroth but to _him_, and Kadaj lightened, knew Mother was here, with him, not Sephiroth. He watched, behind Sephiroth's eyes, as Sephiroth and Mother tried to open his brother, bring them to him. From here, incased in the shell that was Sephiroth, part and yet separate, aching from the knowledge that when he woke the completion would be gone, he could feel Mother, feel her presence as she struggled both with and against Sephiroth. In his mind, he could hear Mother, hear her saying that Sephiroth would and had betrayed her, would and had fought her, but he never would, no, not her son, her Kadaj, her fractured, imperfect Kadaj.

_But I will fix you_, she whispered. _Sephiroth failed me, so I will fix you, my Reunion will make you whole_.

Her voice was soft, soothing, the rage behind it held back but still there, still under the surface, and Kadaj vowed that no, he would not betray her, he would never--

He screamed, in his dream, as the brother that Sephiroth touched, opened, suddenly shattered, fragments of self flying, and he screamed as the light burned him, as a fragment of the other, his brother embedded into him, flying out of the void, piercing, pulling him from Sephiroth and out of that completion, and it burned, those fragments, burned him and burned Mother and She screamed, her voice rending his head, tearing him apart, and the fragments _burned_, burned so _much_, and he _screamed--_

"Brother!"

Kadaj woke. He woke shaking, still feeling Mother screaming in his mind, still feeling where the fragment of his brother had entered, burning. His hands scrabbled at the place, trying to dig it out even as he knew it was impossible; it had burned into Sephiroth, not him, only he had the damage from it, it had become part of what had become Kadaj, and he hated Sephiroth for this.

Kadaj wrapped his arms around himself, shivering, suddenly feeling the gaping emptiness of what he was, even from the dream the memories of being _complete_ haunting him, and Mother's promise seemed so far away, and--

"Brother?" Loz said, eyes wide and frightened, touching Kadaj's shoulder with as much gentleness as he could. "What's wrong?"

"Is it Mother?" Yazoo asked, before Kadaj could speak. Loz and Kadaj were opposites, opposing aspects of Sephiroth that worked together in ways that even Kadaj couldn't understand. Even in appearance, they were opposite, Loz large and powerful as a weapon to be aimed at a populace, Yazoo slight and delicate as a blade to be drawn across the throat. Kadaj wondered, suddenly, where he fit, if he was truly part or alone--Yazoo was seduction and Loz was force, and what was he?

And he reached for them both, Mother still screaming in his mind and the feel of _Sephiroth_ still within him, a mocking presence he wanted to drive out, drive away, never wanted to feel again.

And when he touched them, he knew that it was only the memory of Sephiroth that made him doubt. They were three, not two and one, and he knew this as they reached for him as well, pulling him as one against them. They worked as one, he knew, because they were complete _together, _they were mirrors and so it was only natural that when one moved so did the other, and that they were two points and he was the vertex, they seemed whole together only because they opposed, but true unity only came like this, with the three of them together, and he sought to get closer, moving against them and feeling them move against him, the broken shards coming together, making a whole, making _one_.

And it was odd, so very, very odd, to touch oneselves but not feel it; or rather, to feel it as touching from the outside, feel it only against his hand and not against hand and leg and cheek as he should have. They were three who were supposed to be one, and the distance was a pain almost physical, and with a kind of desperation, Kadaj opened himself to him, bringing them closer to him.

It was only like this, only when connected and joined through flesh and movement, when the others the selves the instances the vessels were somehow inside physically instead of just mentally, that there was a feeling of wholeness of self of inseparability of _complete_, filling each other instead of waiting to be filled; the parts of one filling the others and in turn the empty spaces being filled.

And it was only like this, only now, only in this jumble of sounds and movement and connection, when he when they were one and whole and complete unto themselves himself oneselves, that Mother and Sephiroth were silent.

And when they broke apart, unable to sustain a state of unity, it was like fracturing, of falling back into an incompleteness that seemed all the more painful and aching because of the moments before of joining; the word separated into these flawed and incomplete vessels. Reunion, coming back into one.

Reunion, Kadaj thought sleepily, buried within the safety of the limbs that were himself but not but himself, must be something like the moments where they were all joined, where, for once, they were not trifurcated, but _one_.

And, he thought to himself, feeling the fragment of his brother buried with him, that sang to rejoin with its own source and feeling a kinship with that displaced shard longing to be whole, he would find their missing brother, as incomplete as them, and Reunion would bring them together, bring them all peace.


	4. Aharit ha yamim

Title:

**Title:** Aharit ha-yamim

**Author:** joudama

**Fandom:** Final Fantasy 7

**Rating:** PG

**Warnings:** Worksafe! But maybe not so very keeping-brain-unbent-safe. ;;

**Word count:** 1,235

**Summary:** In the end, _he _would be the one who stood in theflames of the end of days, the planet at his feet.

**A/N:** This was written for kinkfest on insane journal. It's post-Advent Children, but _how_ far post, well. This...was supposed to be part of the series I started last kinkest, Ein Sof, and then I realized it wouldn't work for what I had envisioned. But as I wrote it? Or rather, as I edited it this morning? This turned into something set separate to something in the same Kabbalistic-tinged space as "Ein Sof" to flat-out "Ein Sof" and got a new name--it had been "Like a Prayer" because what to do with it came to me when I was listening to Tori Amos' cover.

...since this wasn't a planned "Ein Sof" fic, um, the "Joudama Explains It All" hat is at the cleaners. ;; Um. -pulls on Joudama Explains It All 'Kerchief- The new title, "Aharit ha-yamim," is from Jewish eschatology, and means "The End of Days." It refers to a time of warfare and the coming of the Messiah, and yeah.

-stuffs kerchief in pocket- Anyway! Enough of that. You don't need to have read earlier Ein Sof fic for this, since each of them stand alone, (although reading the author's notes to "Shevirat ha-Kelim" might explain the imagery in here), so don't let that scare you. :D

--

Cloud might have won once more, but Sephiroth had survived such splits before.

He had survived Mother ripping his head apart from the inside out; he had survived the Lifestream trying to pick him apart; he had survived the three being split away from him, had survived those three pieces growing away, becoming separate and then, in the end, being _taken_ by the Cetra girl before he could bring them back into him--taking them while he had struggled to bring _himself_ together.

He was incomplete and faded and fragmented, but he had survived it before and he would survive it now. This was _his _world and in the end, _he _would be the one who remained; he would be the one who stood in theflames of the end of days, the planet at his feet.

The Lifestream rejected him, as surely as he rejected it. It knew him for what he was, alien and a _curse_. And the planet was something to be conquered, to be broken, to be destroyed, as much a _curse_ as he was. The planet fed off death more than he did; she owed him a debt her destruction alone could replay.

He began to take what he needed, reaching for pieces of the ones tainted with Mother, unable to join the Lifestream fully even after the Cetra had flushed the planet clean. She had flushed the planet of Mother, perhaps, but not of _him_, not of the fragments of souls of the clones Hojo had made, and it was these he searched for, these he slowly teased or _ripped_ from the Lifestream--they were _him_ and he they were _his_, and the planet would not have them.

The planet gave them willingly--even if the souls they had been fused to did not--for the planet knew these things for what they were, separate and alien and impure; something to be excised.

Or so he had thought; he had forgotten that he was not the only one who traveled the Lifestream, forgotten as he reached towards a fragment of himself that spoke of _will_, the part that had been most lost with the loss of the fragment that had called itself Kadaj.

He traveled towards the soul, the parts that were separate even within the Lifestream, and he reached towards it, to rip the drifting soul apart and pull what was his back into himself, and when he touched it _they stood in a field of white and of flowers; everything else, the Lifestream, and fragment housed behind a memory of eyes of a blue like the sky and "You mean you're different?" sharp as a knife, gone as if they had never been._

_"I'm sorry. But I can't let you do this," a woman's voice said, and the voice was so _sad. "_I know that some parts were yours first, but they're his now."_

_"Ahh. You," was all Sephiroth said as his eyes narrowed. Her kind had fought his Mother long ago, and while they had won, the price had by pyrrhic. History, it seemed, repeated itself, and the sins of the mothers were visited unto the children down through the seventh generation. The two of them, the dead who did not rest, were all that remained of their progenitors._

_"She's gone now," was all she said in reply, something gentle in her face. "It can finally be over, you know."_

_"Over?" he said, raising a sardonic eyebrow and giving her a cold smile. "Why would I wish for that?"_

_"You were always alone," she whispered, as if she hadn't heard. "But you don't have to be. You can let go, Sephiroth. You can be free," the Cetra--the thing he was not, the opposite of the monster they had cobbled him from--said, her eyes, as green as his own, pleading with him. "You're only truly separate because you make yourself. You hold on to these memories of Jenova, and that's what keeps all these fragments of you vibrating out of place. No one that Hojo did this to, _none_ of them, can rest...not while you suffer like this."_

_Her eyes were filled with something Sephiroth didn't fully understand. He had seen the look before; had seen it in Angeal's eyes when Sephiroth and Genesis had fought--something tortured behind the anger at the both of them, something he had never been able to completely grasp. "You can finally, finally rest now." _

_She held out her hand, and he narrowed his eyes, knowing how this played out, memories of how in this way, she had taken his will-fragment; taken "Kadaj."_

_She pulled her hand back slowly, going stiff as her eyes widened and unfocused as she seemed to _listen_. She closed her eyes, tilting her head down and clasping her hands together, as if in a prayer. But from within the center of her clasped hands, something seemed to glow; a bright spark drawn from the Lifestream into this space. And he hungered, because he felt part of himself within the fragment, and he would have what was his._

_"Are you sure?" she whispered, and her words were not towards Sephiroth. "But you've given up so much of yourself already..." Her words trailed off, and she suddenly laughed, the sound like bells, but there was so much despair behind it all, as if she laughed because otherwise, she would weep._

_She opened her eyes, slow tears now rolling now down her cheeks. He didn't understand the tears, didn't understand the way she smiled and the smile was one of sadness and pride, all together._

_"I will have," Sephiroth finally said, for even the dead had limits to their patience and after the last defeat he had already waited so long, "What is mine."_

_And that was when she nodded and came forward, face still damp with tears, her hands still clasped tight. She stood before him, looking up, and he thought it would be easy to reach and snap her delicate neck and simply take that fragment and its spark, but that was an illusion, and that in this place--_her_ place--the rules were not the same, and he would lose no more of himself to her. Cutting her down had only made her stronger, and only the gods above and below knew what would happen if he cut her down here, in this space._

_Instead he waited, and she came close, head bowed. When she finally looked up, her eyes were clear._

_"Be whole," she whispered. She raised up onto her toes, and touched her lips against his cheek, and for the first time, Sephiroth understood what a "mother" truly was, and her touch. And it was in that moment, her lips touching his cheek as the hands that had cradled the shining fragments of soul and spark pressed against his chest, pressing what had been _his_ first but was now somehow so _changed, _tainted by its vessel, back into him, that he felt the weight of everything he was and everything that was gone, of everything that had been and everything that was gone, and the emptiness of knowing everything he had never had, and how it, and how he, and how--_

--And in that moment--the horrible moment of knowledge as the world of flowers and white and _peace_ expelled him--if he could have, he would have killed her again.


	5. Hod

Title: Hod

**Title:** Hod

**Author:** joudama

**Fandom:** Final Fantasy 7 (Crisis Core)

**Rating:** worksafe, yes; brainsafe, maybe

**Warnings:** Imagery from Jewish mysticism. _Trust me_, that has to be warned for. Hooboy.

**Word count:** 884

**Summary:** He was the good one no matter what, it seemed.

**Prompt:** Angeal: Good Guy - _He was the good one, no matter what, it seemed._

**A/N:** Before I start, all the game dialogue, I translated myself out of the Japanese, so if it doesn't match the official English release, sorry about that--some places, what was said is just different. I tried watching the English clips on youtube, but had massive failure because my first and primary exposure to the game is in Japanese, and hearing it in English was creating highly unpleasant cognitive dissonance.

-pulls out Joudama Explains It All hat, blows off the dust, and sticks it on-

Hod (Majesty) is the sefira in the eighth position of on the Tree of Life, and indicates "surrender, sincerity, and steadfastness." The position before it is Netzach, "victory," and it is from Netzach that the Light of God flows, and Netzach and Hod are related to each other--Hod is seen as "prayer," which is a form of submission: Netzach fights and conquers the obstacles in the way, while Hod submits, subduing oneself to higher powers. Further, the different sefirot correspond to different parts of the body, and Netzach and Hod are the right and left feet--they are the base on which you stand; they are what propel you and move you forward, and to move, both are necessary, working in tandem. People have to know when to fight and when to conceded to go forward in life.

Both of them, Netzach and Hod (and you can't talk about one without the other; they're also known as "the scales," after all) are extensions, in a way, of the sefira above them: Netzach of Chesed, Mercy, and Hod? The position above Hod is Gevurah--_Severity_, the sefira said to be the one from which evil was allowed to enter the world.

So Hod on the surface seems to be a case where evil, in the guise of goodness, is triumphing, and all that can be done is submit. It can also be seen as not simply vengeance--vengeance is the purvey of Gevurah, after all--but as retribution deserved (just roll with the contradictions, yo--that's what I'm doing). Hod is leeway given to evil and the wicked, because in the end, they evil is going to be far more screwed than we can manage to do--the chickens are going to come home to roost, and it's going to be one _hell _of a shitstorm, so Hod is acceptance of our shitty luck now, because karma is going to come and bite the baddies in the ass.

Hod is also associated with the ability to advance towards one's goals in life, moving forward with determination, commitment, and perseverance. Hod is also all about persevering--hunker down and wait the bad out, because it'll work itself out as it should in the end, and a sublime submission of the self towards attainment of the ultimate goal. That's where the majesty lies, you see--in giving up all that you are so that you win in the end.

-takes of Joudama Explains It All hat, dies-

--

_And the world was as mist, everything distorted and unclear. Everything that had made sense was gone; the world turned upside down and broken; all was chaotic and confused. When the wings had appeared he had shattered, and everything that had been clear had become as mist, and with each time he used the monstrous power within him, he fragmented more; parts of him not just copied but _lost_ with each time he did it, and crying out to return. The mists and uncertainty deepened each time, and part of him wished for a point to come when he had scattered so far that those scattered sparks could have no memory of being whole; could not cry out to be united once again. And so he sank into it, shattering more, in despair not holding tight but letting the shards of self fall where they would; his sense of what he was and what he was supposed to be unable to hold._

"What is it you want?"

"World domination."

"Quit it with the crappy jokes!"

"Fine, then, revenge."

"Against WHO?"

"I...I've become a monster. And the only things I can think of that a monster wants are world domination or revenge."

_And there was the weight; he was what he was, and the weight of it tore at him. This was larger than him, larger than anything he had ever faced; greater than something he could fight. He gave into it, unable to do more, unable to be more. He would have vengeance on the world, for vengeance was what the world had earned._

"No, you're wrong. Wings aren't proof of being a monster."

"Then what is _this_?"

"An angel's wing."

"Is that so? Well, then, what should I want? What dreams should I have?!

"Angels only have one dream."

"Tell me!"

"To become human."

_He struck and the boy went flying, not even trying to defend himself. And when the boy rose, he rose into a fighting stance and then dropped his arms, stance abandoned._

"FIGHT ME!!" _he yelled, seeking a moment of clarity, seeking the oblivion that would come, because this was a fight he would not win; a fight he would not fight. The boy would win, he could do nothing _but _win, and then mists would clear for good or overtake him for good, and either way there would be a peace of sorts, either he would find clarity or find oblivion._

_And instead the boy shook his head, a smile on his face, refusing._

_He plunged the boy into the abyss, and the mist overtook him again._

"Zack, do you remember? Our promise to fight everything that brought suffering to the world?"

"Yeah...but that doesn't include you!"

"I brought suffering to myself. And I'll show you, Zack."

"Angeal!"

_And then, there was only light._

"Angeal!" the boy screamed, echoing in the light as the mists surrounded him once more. "What about pride?!"

_And when the mists faded there even the light was gone. And for once, for the first time in very long, Angeal could let himself smile._

"Zack...you did...pretty well, kid."

_He held out his sword, the only thing that was left, the only thing that mattered. It was the sword that held his pride, held his dreams, and those things would all be fulfilled, so long as there was one to wield the sword that held his dreams, held his pride, held his spark. _"So...look after this for me.

"Don't...forget your pride."

_And then once more, there was only light. _

_Light, and the voices of thousands of millions, the voice of all that was and all that had been, a peace and reward that called to him. And yet he held back, fragments of _himself_ still apart, some still separate and still unable to rest, still far away even as more of them came to this peaceful place, and those from afar cried out that his work was not done, that there was still suffering and he must snuff it out; it was his enemy and always would be, all that brought suffering to the world, and he would fight until it was gone. But he was now nothing but spark, but in this place, in this space there was more that he could do than he had ever been able to before. He had waited and now, in one instant, he could be feel his pride again._

_And the sparks, scattered far and buried within fragmented vessels, began to resonate, and as a sparked touched that Buster sword, everything was so clear._

"And you call yourself a SOLDIER?! Who needs a SOLDIER _this_ pathetic."

"Angeal! Wait!"

_And then, there was only white, white that gave way to a sky as blue as eyes that one could never fear, clouds as pure as pride and a monster's wings. And the boy looked up, looking so much older than he had been, older and lost in that vast nothingness, but the light of that certainty of cause and rightness of self granting him the ability to do what was needed at last._

_And from the sky, a final spark fell, floating from the sky._

"Please...lend me your wings, too..."

_And with that, all that was wrong with all in the world that mattered, all that brought him suffering, shattered._


End file.
